Goodness I love to swim.

I love slipping through water that is the same temperature as my skin. I love the way a cupped handful of water resists being pushed out of the way. I love the way my body feels, stretched all the way out, rolling in a rhythm, and weightless.

I especially like that my chest is weightless in water.  That it stops pulling on my neck and shoulders and getting in my way. That for this interval I get a break from the pain this causes me the other 23 hours of the day.

I like that my legs flex and push and scissor with great power in water, but my knees don’t hurt. I like that my bare feet feel clean and warm and tender-skinned as a baby’s. I like the way the skin on the pads of my smaller toes pales and puckers, which makes my feet look deceptively vulnerable, like they would consent to be cared for only by someone trustworthy, and maybe I fill that bill and maybe I don’t.

I like feeling my heart pick up its pace. I like noticing that I am breathing more, and pulling the air farther down into my lungs. I like the subtle binding that catches in my muscles. I like working through that twingey stitch, emerging all flexible and able after a short time of just trying, of just pushing through the discomfort, gently.

 I like it when I realize how fast  I could go. It’s enough just to see how fast; I don’t actually need to go fast. I would rather go long.

Yes I do love to swim.

And now that I am over in Hyde Park every day, I am going to plunk down the fee for a 1-month membership at the Stowe Swimming Hole and just see how that goes.